


Set Fire to the Sky

by the_dala



Series: North and South of the River [8]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:38:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James joins Jack and Will on the <i>Black Pearl</i> at last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Fire to the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Title from U2's "Red Hill Mining Town." This is the final story in this series.
> 
> I'm archiving my old PotC fic - this was originally published on March 1st, 2004. I haven't done much editing for these old fics so far, but this one is different - it's very near to my heart, and I felt it deserved more consideration. So there are some significant differences between this version and the original.

It was far from the first time he’d awakened to find Jack staring at him, head tilted to one side like a bird, a slightly puzzled look on his face. James ignored him and stretched, familiarizing himself with the sight of the cabin in daylight, the feel of the sheets tangled around him.

“Morning,” said Jack cheerfully.

“Mmm,” James replied, burrowing deeper into his pillow. He came up again a moment later, squinting at nothing in particular. “It’s late,” he accused Jack.

Jack pouted and twisted one of his many beads in one hand. “Now I’m to be stuck with two early risers instead of just the one, is that what you’re telling me? You never woke all that early when we stayed with you in Port Royal.”

“Yes, well, you tended to keep me in a constant state of exhaustion, as I recall.” Jack looked fairly pleased at the reminder. He linked an arm about James’ waist and hauled him close. James relaxed against him with a sigh, having no real desire to get up just yet. Last night had been somewhat overwhelming and he was nervous about what the day would bring. He was, after all, the scourge of the Caribbean – or at least he had been at one time. The uniform could be discarded, but his reputation and his bearing could not. It wasn't something a pirate crew, even one under Jack’s command, was likely to forget. And his physical appearance was...alarming, to say the least. In Kingston more than one child had turned its face to a mother’s skirts at the sight of him. Even well-bred adults found it difficult to control their reactions. James had never been particularly vain, aside from a simple pleasure in keeping his state of dress immaculate, but he knew there was no symmetry to his features now.

Breath and mustache tickling the back of his neck, Jack whispered, “I like the way you look on my ship. Now stop thinking so loud, you’re going to spoil my good mood.”

James turned, bringing his hand to Jack’s chest and flicking gently at a browned nipple. “I’m sorry. I can’t help but think that I’m going to be a terrible burden to you.”

“Liar,” Jack said. “You worry about what people will say when they see you. I noticed the lack of a mirror in your former abode, mate.”

“You notice everything,” James muttered, not entirely kindly.

“And just like that, you do yourself a disservice by acting so bloody stupid when we know you aren't.”

Even after all this time, he was still surprised at how quickly Jack could turn so serious as he was now, as he gripped James’ shoulder and brought his face in close, dark eyes grave and jaw set.

“Don’t you dare think for a moment that those scars or that missing arm make you any less a man, James. Especially here of all places, and with us among all people.” He tapped the black musket holes on his chest for emphasis. “And it’s not the worst onboard, mind. A man can lose a lot and still go on, if he’s the will for it.” His eyes flickered with amusement as he belatedly recognized his own pun.

“And the Jack,” James said with a quirked eyebrow.

Jack framed his face with both hands. “Ah, there’s that smile again, the one kept me up nights sometimes. Could trade gold for it, that smile of yours.”

He squirmed under the attention even as he was pleased by it; he'd grown so accustomed to people looking away from him. “And how would one judge its worth, exactly?”

“Oh, s’ppose there could be a contest,” said Jack thoughtfully, prompting a sigh of relief from James as his gaze shifted to the ceiling. “Of course you’d take the top prize, and we’d steal the purses of the runners-up.”

James chuckled, scraping the tip of the bone in Jack’s hair against his palm. “Of course.”

“But if you asked me, personally, to name my price, I’d have to tell you there’s not enough loot in all the seas to do justice to that rare breed of expression.” He pushed James onto his back and started to work his way downwards with lips and fingers, the blanket tenting in a most appealing way over his backside.

“Flatterer,” James accused, parting his knees to let rough hands knead the insides of his thighs. It was shameful how quickly he could be encouraged into arousal, but then shame was not a wise component to bring into this particular bed.

“Always,” Jack answered, glancing up to favor him with a feral grin. He circled the base of James’ shaft with his hand and ran it all the way up, repeating the stroke until James was fully hard.

James curled his fingers in the sheets and thrust into the grip, sweet and close but not what he had in mind and what he hoped Jack did as well. He took his precious time about it, though, holding James’ hips steady while he licked the slit daintily, swirling his tongue around the head and lapping up and down, adding a well-timed nibble with lips and teeth that generated a good deal of swearing and jerking. And God, as if the man had any right to complain about a ridiculous _smile_ haunting his nights when he was possessed of a mouth like that –

Crying out abruptly as Jack took him all the way in, James cast a look down to catch the merry dancing in his eyes as he sucked slowly, the wet sound of it just barely drowned out by James’ labored breathing. He abandoned his death-grip on the sheet to slide his fingers between braids and twisted locks, allowing no possibility for that mouth to leave him until he’d filled it. Little noises in the back of Jack's throat caused waves of vibration to pulse through his cock, while long fingers massaged his balls and pressed against his entrance.

He was used to having something in the vicinity of his mouth to muffle noise, so he was quite proud of mostly quelling any sound when he came. He hadn't forgotten that they were now on a ship with a full crew. Jack swallowed with apparent relish and solicitously licked him clean.

“Just as I thought,” he said in a satisfied tone as he shimmied up the bed to kiss him.

“And what would that be?” James ran his tongue across the roof of his own mouth, still amazed at the differences in the taste of himself, Jack, and Will – faint, really, and not something he could describe in concrete terms, but there was a slight variation on each of them.

Jack planted lips just under his ear. “Still beautiful,” he murmured.

He clamped his mouth tight to trap that damned smile Jack had been prattling on about.

“What about you, Captain Sparrow?” he asked, trailing his hand down to curl in the wiry dark hair above Jack’s half-hard cock.

Jack shook his head and drew away. “I’m going to seek out dear William and describe to him exactly what he misses by rising so early.” Tugging on pants and shirt, he leaned down to press a kiss to James’ forehead. “Get a little more sleep and then come find us so we can show you ‘round.”

“Jack?” He pointed to a nail on the wall.

Jack strode over to it. “Nearly forgot my hat – thanks very much, love.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Would that be my wig hanging under it?”

Lifting the battered hat off, Jack peered at the white wig with exaggerated astonishment. “Why, so it is! Ain’t that a fancy!”

“What, pray tell, is my wig doing here? I distinctly recall leaving it behind.”

Jack shot him a look of great hurt. “D’you mean to tell me that we don’t get to dress up and play Commodore an’ pirates anymore? Whatever good would the manacles be if we couldn't?” With a salute and a bow, he backed out the door and kicked it shut behind him.

James groaned, flinging his arm over his face. The prospect of dealing with his two lovers on a daily basis was beginning to look like a daunting one. More rest was bound to be a good prospect.

He pulled the coverlet up and wondered idly how many places on the ship Will and Jack christened in their own unique way, and if the crew minded the noise.  


After sleeping for a few hours more, James dragged himself from bed and began the laborious process of dressing one-handed. It wasn't easy but he'd gotten the hang of it by now, and anyway he wasn't about to go asking Jack or Will for help – in no small part because he figured the clothes would take a much longer time in finding their way onto his body if either was involved.

All eyes turned to him as he walked the deck, some trying to be subtle about it but most just staring outright. He held his back uncomfortably straight and his chin high before realizing how that would come off and adopting a less forbidding posture. There was the hostility he had expected, but more curiosity than anything else.

He got the grand tour from Jack, proud as a peacock, while Will was checking supplies in the hold. Cursory introductions were made to each crewman they passed, though James quickly lost track of the names.

“You know them by first and last name?” said James in an undertone as Jack was waving off a Scotsman named George, or Geoff, or something to the like.

Jack flashed gold at him. “I take it you couldn't say the same for all your little Navy-lings?” When James shook his head, he continued, “Don’t worry about it – we’ll spend tonight drinking and carousing, and I guarantee you’ll get to know at least a few of ‘em better. Perhaps better than you’d like – but not _too_ well, eh?” he added, frowning at a bare-chested, nicely-formed blond who had been casting glances at James’ rear.

The wind was fair, so there was a flurry of activity throughout the ship and a general mood of goodwill. James was beyond startled to find himself having lunch with one Joshamee Gibbs, whom he distinctly recalled from the voyage to Port Royal years ago. Will apologized for forgetting to mention this small coincidence, while Jack said that he hadn't meant to tell him in the first place and the look on his face when he recognized Gibbs was proof positive it had been the right instinct.

The small cluster of men who’d surrounded them asked him questions about his injuries and, once that was out of the way, proceeded to interrogate him about whether they were on file with the British Navy. It seemed to hold more of a romantic excitement than he would have expected. Jack had a good laugh about this while Will tactfully changed the subject. For awhile they discussed sailing, navigation, geography, and various topics before James was challenged to an arm-wrestling competition by a peg-legged dwarf. Will declined on speechless James’ behalf and steered him aft.

“Don’t mind Marty, he does that to everyone new,” Will assured him with a broad grin. James nodded, leaning backwards against the rail and trying to catch his breath.

With a light touch on his forearm, Will asked quietly, “Are you all right, James?"

“I’m fine, really, it’s just...” He ran his hand through his hair and blew out a sigh.

“A bit much?” Will supplied, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Believe me, I remember.”

“Remember what? When you were wet behind the ears and didn't know your arse from a poorly caulked porthole?” Jack came up beside them, a bottle in his hand.

Will made a face at him. “Thank for the reminder, Jack.”

“Anytime, love.” He flung an arm around each of them, the rum sloshing in the bottle against Will’s breast. James started when he felt a slender tongue bathe his earlobe. He tried to shake Jack off, but it only got him both arms and even more attention. Turning red, he glanced around to see if anyone had taken notice. Will was the only one watching, a knowing smirk on his face.

“Is he always like this?” James hissed as Jack sloppily kissed the side of his neck.

“Clingy? Touchy? Draping himself all over you?”

Jack paused to haughtily declare, “I do not _cling_ ,” before, much to James’ warring senses of dismay and delight, returning to his ministrations.

“He won’t be so obnoxious if you stop blushing and trying to push him away,” Will explained sagely. “Took me some time to figure that out.”

At this Jack turned and pouted at him. “You ruined the game,” he complained. “You’re cheating.”

“Pirate,” said Will, spreading his arms wide.

Jack snickered and minced close, dragging James behind him. “I’m thinking it may be time for an afternoon siesta,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Cap’n! Sails off ‘a starboard!” The shout had come from aloft. Others immediately raised hands to brows, scanning the horizon.

Stiffening and releasing them both, Jack set off for the helm at a quick clip. Will was close on his heels and James right behind. He took a spyglass from a older man with a brightly-colored parrot on one shoulder and held it up, peering intently at a blot against the shimmer of the water.

Beside him, Will and James squinted, but it was impossible to see clearly.

“Can you see the make?” Will asked in a low, urgent voice.

“Nay,” Jack said, “but she’s closing in and fast – heading straight for us, I’d say. Come on, come on,” he muttered, perfectly still as he stared through the glass at the approaching vessel. “Turn just a little, ducks, there we are –” His fingers tapped a rhythmless tattoo on the brass. “No colors. Three masts. Man o’ war, looks like – round about the size of the _Pearl_."

The ship was drawing near enough now that they could all see the black flag being risen, an hourglass and a line of three skulls with crossbones.

James experienced a familiar gut reaction at seeing that banner – excitement and fear and a cool calculation – before he remember on the deck on which he was standing.

Will was frowning at the rippling piece of fabric. “Tom Becker’s flag, isn't it? But that’s not the _Quartermaster_.”

“No,” said Jack, snapping the spyglass closed, “Becker’s just had himself a treat of Dutch merchantmen, remember? I expect the _Quartermaster_ was showing her age, so it makes sense he’d trade up.” He snorted, upper lip curled in contempt. “Overconfident bastard’s looking for a fight, we’ll give ‘im a fight. Won’t we, lads?” He raised his voice to the crew gathered nearest and they chorused in response.

James turned sharply on his heel and started for the cabin.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” Jack demanded, snagging his arm.

“To arm myself. If there’s to be a battle, I will fight,” said James stiffly, shrugging him off. He caught the doubtful look Will and Jack exchanged and his temper flared. “Look,” he snapped, “do you really expect to shut me away whenever we meet an enemy? I made my choice and here I am.” He took a breath to calm himself. “And it’s here I’ll stay, beside you.”

Jack’s eyes were laying him bare as they always did. “And if it’s an English ship we meet next?” he said softly.

James swallowed hard, glancing away. “Then we’ll deal with it when the time comes. Right now, _that_ –” He stabbed a finger at the approaching vessel. “–is not an English ship.”

“Can’t argue with you about that,” said Jack, giving him one last searching glance before nodding once. “Go get your effects, then.” Will was already checking the shot in his pistol.

Within the time it took him to race to the cabin, strap sword and gun to his belt, and get back to the helm, they were already firing. The boom of cannons and the shrapnel shattering nearby only helped to clear his mind.

Jack was fidgeting, fingering his blade and glaring across the scant space dividing the two ships. “Coward hasn't even shown his face,” he said scornfully. “Wants to engage onboard. Wants the _Pearl_.”

“As if he has any chance in hell of taking her,” said Will through gritted teeth, naked sword in hand. He offered James a grin that was more a determined grimace.

Jack cast a sideways glance at James as he shouted to the armed and ready crew. “You lot know my rules. Kill when you must, accept surrender, don’t touch any prisoners they've got. We’ll divvy up the take only after we've secured the ship”

From the muttering at his back, James guessed that they did indeed know the rules, and that they had only been repeated for his benefit.

The roaring pirates of the other ship threw lines across as the Pearl’s crew did the same. Will took off with a “be _careful_ ” tossed over his shoulder.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jack called after him. “And you,” he added, turning to James while keeping one eye open for the attackers, “you listen to the boy.”

Then a man swung in front of him with a grunt and he lunged forward. James had an instant to appreciate the fluid grace of Jack Sparrow with a blade before he was engaged himself.

The battle was mostly a blur. Fighting was something he’d been trained to do, something he’d worked at and sweated from and bled for. It was as natural as breathing and required about as much thought, even with only one arm. What was tricky was keeping the pirates straight, since he had not known the Pearl’s crew nearly long enough to distinguish them from the enemy combatants. Fortunately they recognized him well enough, so his basic strategy was to defend himself against any man that came rushing at him.

Adrenaline floored him and clouded his sense of time passing, so that he was blinking around at a mostly empty deck before he knew it. There were a few dead men scattered about, including a gaudily dressed fellow who had to be the captain, but it seemed most of them had surrendered when the tide turned against them. He could just see Will ducking below decks on the other ship, which was overrun by their own crew.

So they had won, he thought in distant satisfaction. He had survived his first battle with a pirate crew – his first battle _as_ a pirate. It seemed strange in the aftermath, but all he had really done today was fight pirates, and that was exactly what he’d done as a commodore and a lieutenant, so it did not warp his conscience just yet.

He stepped over bodies, searching for Jack. He caught sight of the back of the familiar tattered jacket and swaying limbs – his hat was still perched firm on his head. The captain was dictating orders to Mr. Gibbs when James put a hand on his shoulder. Jack spun, and smiled in triumph, and collapsed.

James fell to his knees, hearing Gibbs’ shocked “Mother o’ Christ” but not registering it.

Jack was breathing shallowly, staring down in confusion at his fist balled up against his ribs. James pried it away and immediately pressed his own palm to the wound.

“Damn,” Jack said, one knee bending up in reflex before he let it fall still. “Didn't think it was that bad.”

The blood was coursing hot against his fingers.

“Jack – my God – we need to get you below –”

“Won’t matter.” His face had taken on a grayish cast beneath the tan.

“But –”

“Let go o’ me, mate.” His fingertips fluttered against the back of James’ hand and James reluctantly removed it from the wound. There was no gush of blood this time, only a slow, inexorable rivulet.

A glance up at Gibbs’ ashen face only confirmed what he knew from years of experience.

“James.” He looked back down at Jack, whose eyes were shining soft like coals that had only just lost their glow.

He laid his hand on Jack’s own, covering the red slash. “Is there –” He tried to keep the tremors out of his voice. “Is there anything I can...”

“No,” said Jack with a single shake of his head, “no, just...stay with me.” His fingers twitched beneath James’ own. “Sorry, Jamie – so sorry.”

“Hush – for what?” He leaned down closer so Jack would not need to strain to speak.

Jack's eyes traced a path across the blue sky before returning to James. “I wanted to show you the world...”

James tasted blood in his mouth and stopped biting his tongue. The desire to argue with Jack would not leave him even now. “I've been a sailor for a long time, Captain." Jack's pale lips curved at the use of his proper title. "I’ve seen much of the world.”

“Ah, but not the way I’d show it to you.” His voice was a sigh of regret.

“It was enough, Jack. It was.” He tried to put all force of meaning behind his words, needing him to know that beyond anything else.

Jack blinked at him, wary of hope in this late hour. “Truly?”

“Yes.” He struggled past the iron bar in his throat. “I do love you, you know...”

A faint smile at that.

“Daft bugger. O’ course I know.” The muscles in his neck stood out as he drew a breath, shallower than the last.

“Somebody find Will, now!” He didn't know where he’d dredged up the energy to shout the command, since he could feel every last vestige of strength draining from his limbs, leaving him weak and hollow. 

"Already done," came Gibbs' voice behind him. 

“Good man,” said Jack with a wet-sounding chuckle. “Th’ whelp’d never forgive me if he didn't get the chance t’ say goodbye.”

“Jack...” He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, only knew that he needed to keep Jack talking, fight off that threat of shadow behind his eyes. “Are you in pain?” Stupid question – stupid, _stupid_ question –

“Know I ought to be hurtin’ bad, but I can’t seem to feel much a’tall...”

He tightened his fingers around Jack’s. “Can you feel this?” And he bent down, balancing carefully on his knees, to kiss Jack's lips. They were warm and he could catch the scent of blood behind them.

“Aye. That I could always feel.” A faint squeeze of his hand. “And your pretty green eyes –” His gaze shifted over James' shoulder, but James could not look away from Jack’s face.

“Take care o’ him, lad,” Jack said, meeting his eyes again. “He’s goin’ to have a hard time of it.”

There was a entreaty in that look, and a flare of Jack's fire still burning, but there was fear too. He would have promised anything to keep it away. “I will. I swear.”

“Jack?” Will dropped down across from him on Jack’s other side. His face froze as his eyes fell to the blood – the _blood_...

Jack smiled up at him, that hint of fear either hidden or given up. He crooked a finger. “Come here, laddie-me-love.”

“Jack – you’re hurt.” Will’s voice was small, almost puzzled. He touched his fingertips to Jack’s soaked shirt and brought them close to his face, staring.

“I am sorry to have t’be leaving you so soon,” said Jack, heaving a small gasp. His hand seemed to pulse against James’ own, as if his heartbeat was getting stronger.

Will was shaking his head as comprehension dawned. “No,” he said, lost within the word. “No, you can’t – the sea can’t take you, she owes you too many favors, remember?” His voice was raw - begging, pleading with him, pleading to be told anything but the truth before them on the bare deck.

Jack just gazed at him, unnervingly steady, as if he'd spend eternity looking at him before he'd ever look his fill. “She paid me back long ago, sweet William, a thousand times over – she brought me you.”

Will looked up then and James couldn't breathe. His chest ached as if he were back in the inferno, black smoke clouding his lungs.

“James – can’t you – can’t we –” He asked it in the broken tone of a man who’d never asked for anything, not like this.

“Look at me, Will,” Jack commanded, and Will obeyed. “The Black Pearl is yours now. Treat her well – an’ that goes for each other too.”

Will was shaking now, violently, his bloodstained fingernails digging into his palms. “I can’t do it alone. Jack, I _can't_.”

“You won’t.” The warmth was starting to leech out of his voice, though he was struggling to keep hold of it.

Will’s eyes darted from Jack to James, back and forth, desperate and hunted. 

Jack closed his eyes, opened them again at Will’s ragged sob. Will’s hands were moving now, touching his face, his chest, his arms, his bleeding wound.

“Love you, Will Turner,” Jack breathed. His eyes shifted to James, who felt his face had turned to stone but he tried – tried so hard a spasm shot through him – 

“Your smile – aye, your perfect smile, Jamie. Both my loves. Always.” He looked at Will again before his lids drifted down over his dark eyes. They waited a heartbeat – two – three. Jack was still.

A cry that sounded like it was being torn from Will’s throat echoed across the silent deck. It was so awful to hear that James cringed away on instinct. Will reached for Jack wildly, drew him up against his chest, rocked to and fro as he made that sound again. And James was glad because it meant he didn't have to feel Jack’s hand go cold, wouldn't have to remember that.

He became aware of the silent crew gathered around, hats or kerchiefs in their hand. No one dared come near but Gibbs and the man with the parrot. For a moment he wanted to scream at them, beat his fists against them, but it was a quickly faded impulse. They had been his friends, they had cared for him too - a few men were openly weeping. And, a cool part of his mind noted, they were witness to his final words. There were things that had to be done when a captain died.

Things that had to be done.

He shifted forward to Will, who was still clutching Jack's body. Will started at the touch to his shoulder, his eyes burning and his face wet with tears. 

“Will.” He wondered how he could sound so calm, so composed. “He’s gone now.”

Will stared like he'd never seen James before in his life. 

“Let go. Let him go.”

Fury as pure as grief twisted Will's handsome features. “Don’t tell me that.”

James didn't rise to the bait, only said his name again: “Will.”

All at once his expression went slack and distant. He shuddered, then laid Jack carefully down against the deck, tucking his arms straight at his sides. He tugged at the knot in his scarf and, freeing it, lowered it slowly over Jack’s face.

James let out a breath of relief. He'd half-thought that Will was going to jump over the gunwale with Jack in his arms.

Will stood straight. He drew his sword.

Gibbs stepped forward nervously. “Wi –” He cleared his throat. “Captain Turner.”

Will flinched exactly as a man struck with a lash. His arm, however, was steady as he raised it to point his blade at the cluster of surrendered pirates.

“Kill them.” His voice was controlled. Level. “And those aboard the other ship. Kill them all.”

It was a credit to Jack’s integrity, James knew, that Gibbs did not jump to obey this order. No one had ever lied when they called him a good man, and he attracted a certain type of follower for his crew.

After a pause, Will swung the sword around to aim it at Gibbs. James got to his feet.

“Sir – cap’n –”

“Don’t do this, Will,” James said. Will spun to look at him and his eyes were flat and cold. James raised his arms to show he had no weapons; they had been forgotten when Jack fell. 

“You _dare_.”

James didn't move. The sword point touched the base of his throat. He did not look away from Will’s face.

“This is not going to bring him back.” The words hurt like a blow. But there were things he needed to do and he had no time to dwell. “This isn't what he would have wanted.”

“ _How do you know what he would have wanted?_ ” Will hissed. At the other end of the sword James could see a horror mirroring his own at the manner in which he’d spoken: the moment in which ‘is’ became ‘was,’ ‘has’ became ‘had,’ and the man to whom they both belonged became the empty shell lying on the deck.

Blood dripped down onto his sleeve from the tip of Will’s sword as it just barely nicked the skin.

“I don’t.” A necessary lie - Jack of all people would forgive him for it. “You do.”

Will's shoulders slumped and his jaw worked. The steel trembled at James' throat before it clattered to the deck. 

James stepped forward, hand held out, but Will backed away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, shaking his head over and over until the gesture lost all meaning, his voice a shadow of his former anger. The men parted for him as he turned and strode away to the hold.

“Comm – Mr. Norrington. Sir,” added Gibbs when he didn't turn around.

“I should go after him,” said James. 

“Might be best to let ‘im alone for awhile. Till he wants t’be found.” Gibbs cautiously took the sword James had picked up. He'd tried to clean the tip, forgetting that his own hands were sticky with blood. 

“And if he does harm to himself?” There were things that had to be done in times like these, and then there were things that people needed to be protected from.

Gibbs frowned. “‘Hadn’t thought o’ that. You – Robespierre, and Tibbits – look for Captain Turner. Search ‘er from fore to aft.”

James knelt on the deck again, scrubbing his palms on his breeches before tugging Jack's coat over the wound.

“Norrington. Lad – we’ll take charge o’ the – the body,” said Gibbs. The man with the parrot put a hand on his shoulder. James shrugged it off.

“No, I'll do it. I've buried men at sea before."

“All right,” Gibbs conceded. “But let's clean him up first, aye?” He helped James to his feet, then he and the parrot-man bent to lift Jack in their arms.

“Careful,” said James sharply. He was no use in carrying, but laid a hand on him all the same.

The sunset brought with it a gale. James kept vigil through the night, convincing the others to leave him be. He sat beside Jack’s body, laid out on a pallet and wound in a sheet, as rough winds buffeted the ship. The _Pearl_ herself kept him company, or so it would seem by the eerie wailing from above – the wind sounding through the open hatch, he knew, but still a part of him wondered.

James took a breath, held it, let it out. Took another, did the same. It was all he was capable of. Sleep eluded him, phantom voices echoed in his ears. He could not yet think on the words of the afternoon, though he knew they were recounted in his mind with perfect precision. Those words did not torment him, not yet – but others did.

_You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of._  
_Ah, but you have heard of me._  


_Did you miss us, Commodore?_

_Funny you should mention sea monsters. D'I ever tell you about that summer I spent in a lovely little glen in Scotland?_

_We’ll be leaving in the morning, Jamie, so do name your pleasure for the night._

_Just as I thought. Still beautiful._

_A man can lose a lot and still go on, if he’s the will for it._

The will.

Will.

 _You forget your place, Turner._  
_It’s right here, between you and Jack._

He gazed at the still body and he wanted Will there with him, with a dull ache that felt like his missing arm only worse.

But Will did not appear, not then nor at dawn when the seas calmed and they laid Jack to rest. A few of the men said prayers but most told sailors' tales of their captain, embellished and bawdy and outrageous. James thought Jack would have liked it, even if he couldn't trust himself to speak. At the end someone brought out a fiddle and a young man – no more than a boy, really – sang high and sweet.

The ring he had taken from Jack’s finger sat cold and heavy in his hand.

_You’d make a bloody awful pirate, Jamie love._

Did it count as an act of piracy if he meant to give it away? 

He had left tokens in exchange: Will’s scarf knotted around Jack’s wrist, and the piece of green glass they had once given him. He had borrowed an awl to put a hole through it and twisted it into the thick black locks, by the cowrie shell Jack had sworn a mermaid traded for a kiss. 

The sea was like glass itself now, the weather’s rage spent the night before. No noise muffled the sound of the splash as Jack’s wrapped and weighted body hit the water. As it sank, the _Pearl's_ sails luffed and the deck gave a roll. A few men crossed themselves as they peered into the rigging. 

Someone handed him a flask and he raised it to his lips, rum bitter against his tongue.

 _Don’t vomit on my pillow, please._  
_And waste good rum?_

Dropping the flask, he stumbled to the head to retch. His stomach roiled painfully when he was finished; he would have to eat at some point.

He turned, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and grimacing at the taste of bile. Will was standing on the forecastle deck, turned toward the funeral party but looking straight at James.

Before he could say anything or move towards him Will was gone, disappearing down the hatch. James considered chasing after him for a moment, but decided against it. He was exhausted and Will obviously didn't want to be caught.

He swayed against the rail as lack of rest suddenly caught up with him. He could fight his pride and ask to sleep where the crew slept, even if it meant being surrounded by so many, or he could take the cabin. Sleeping right out on deck was an option, but the sun was gaining height in the sky and he wanted to be out of it.

There was a crimson curtain over the cabin windows that he hadn't noticed before. Drawing it closed, he sat down on the bunk and took off his shirt, the same one he’d been wearing since yesterday, stained beyond help. It could be burned. His breeches were likewise soiled so he took them off too, along with his boots, and curled up naked beneath the sheets.

He breathed in the scents of Jack and Will, aware that this was their bed and he had only come to it lately. Closing his eyes, he was assaulted by the memory of Jack's mocking grin in the sunlight - had it only been yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. 

To his surprise, sleep claimed him easily. He woke around twilight, gasping for air and tasting ashes on his tongue. He didn't remember the dream; he didn't have to.

For the rest of the night he wandered, taking over watch from the man on duty. He walked the deck until his toes were pinched inside his boots, looking for glimpses of Will. The next day was much the same, except there was more desire to hide himself from sympathetic eyes. He retired to the cabin well before nightfall, sitting up in bed to watch the sunset through the stern windows.

 _What do you have to lose?_  
_Nothing I’d lament being rid of._  


  
Will slept.

He had tucked himself into countless corners of the ship in the past two days, including the smuggling compartments no one but Gibbs knew about, but sleep eluded him until this moment. He leaned back against a coil of rope, decided to rest his eyes, and was instantly gone.

In his dreams he walked barefoot along a nondescript beach. The sun was high but it was cold, and it didn't hurt his eyes even when he looked straight at it. It left spots as the real sun did, though, and when they cleared away Jack was standing in front of him. He looked the same as he always did. Perhaps a little more somber than usual, a little wiser – but himself nonetheless.

Will considered that he ought to be rushing forward into his arms, overcome with the need to touch him, but it didn't seem very important.

“Are you really here?” he asked instead. “Is this you, or only what I want to see?”

Jack shrugged, flashed a grin at him. “Dunno. Does it matter?”

Will ran his eyes over the lean form, the quick dark fingers, the dancing eyes. “Are we somewhere important?”

“No,” said Jack. “But we have something important to discuss.”

Will remembered the guilt weighing down his waking self and he burst out, “I’m sorry I didn't say it one last time.”

“That you love me?”

“Yes." Will raked a hand through his hair. "I should have told you.”

Jack snorted. “Silly whelp, whyever would you need to?” He waved over his shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance. “Mere frippery – ask Jamie, he’ll tell you.”

Will dug his toes into the sand, which was cool and damp from the waves gently lapping up. “I haven’t spoken to him,” he admitted, unable to look Jack in the eye.

Clucking his tongue, Jack said, “Now that is a damned shame, m’boy. You've usually got more sense than that.” He held up a single finger as he began to dig in his pockets, under his sash, patting himself down as if looking for something. “Ah – here –” Drawing something out of his waistcoat, he tossed it to Will. “Catch.”

Will caught the thing. It was an oversize silver coin, with the visage of a grinning skull that swirled rapidly in the center until it was just a white blur. Inside it he could see an afterimage of James, tossing violently about on a bed, drenched in sweat.

“He’s in our cabin?” Will shivered, watching James kick at the sheets. “Alone.”

The silver disc stung his fingers and he dropped it in surprise, watching it sink down into the sand and disappear. When he looked back up, Jack was slowly backing away from him.

“Jack?” He tried to follow, but it was as though every one step of his was equal to three steps of Jack’s, and the water was receding as well.

“Tide’s going out,” said Jack, lifting one shoulder in apology. “Got to go with it.”

Will hurled himself forward, feet slapping against the wet sand as it dried out beneath him. “Wait – please wait! Don’t leave me!”

Jack smiled patiently. He was far enough away that he had to raise his voice. “That’s not quite how it works, love.”

Then he was speeding away backwards, faster and faster, and Will found himself running on dry sand. One foot sank deep and he started to fall, landing with a jerk against his coil of rope in the belly of the Pearl.  


 

_What if you could go anywhere?_  
_Anywhere in the world._  
_Here. Right here._  


James woke with a start. Checking the position of the moon, he figured he’d managed several hours of sleep this time. Better than nothing, he supposed, but he was unwilling to try again. He pulled on his breeches and went on deck. He came to a halt at the sight of Will at the rail, staring out over the water.

The notion of dragging him inside and tying him up to keep him from running all over the ship was a tempting one.

Will turned his head slightly, so that James could just catch the moonlight glinting off his eyes. “Come out here with me?”

Still fearing a bolt, James walked over to stand beside him. Will didn't look at him again, so he studied the younger man out of the corner of his eye. His clothes were torn and filthy, his skin streaked with soot and dirt. There were little scratches and cuts on his hands and his face. His eyes looked bruised in the dark, and James wondered if he’d slept at all.

“I wanted to thank you for stopping me killing those men,” Will said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. “I would have regretted it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“The crew must be very unsettled right now. I've shirked my duty to them.”

“Gibbs has been handling things,” said James. “You can take as long as you need.”

Will pursed his lips. “I’ll speak with him in the morning, all the same. I don’t imagine we've a heading just yet.”

“No, that’s your decision. Have you given it any thought?”

Will nodded, sliding his palms together and apart on the rail. “There’s an old friend who...she’s usually sailing around the Leeward Islands this time of year, so we could head that way. And before the winter sets in, we might go to visit Elizabeth.”

“I'd like to see her again,” said James. “And she would want...” He hesitated.

“News,” said Will shortly. “Yes. After that, perhaps the American colonies." He bit his lip and looked at James, almost furtively. “Jack has a child in Charleston, did you know that?”

“No, I didn't,” James replied, noting how Will’s voice got soft on his name.

“A son,” said Will with a quick bob of his head. “We send his mother gold twice a year, and we visit from time to time.”

Even now, Jack could still surprise him. “How old is the boy?”

“He’ll be ten in January. His name is Thomas. It’s like looking at a miniature...” He cleared his throat. “Uncanny. He doesn't know of his parentage, of course – he thought we were uncles – but I mean to tell him someday. When he’s old enough to understand.”

James was bidden by the need to pull him close, to shield the fragility in his voice. But he didn't move, afraid to interrupt the struggle behind those brown eyes.

Finally Will said haltingly, “This is – I don’t want it to be like this. You and I – it’s different now but I still -"

His voice faltered and James reached up to touch his cheek. "I know," he said thickly. 

“Good,” Will gasped, “ _good_ –” And then he was throwing his arms around James, clutching tight enough to bruise. James held him as best he could in one arm, trying to quell the trembling he could feel rising up from Will’s feet, as if it came from the deck itself.

“I’m sorry,” Will breathed against his neck. “I was angry with you. It made no sense, but I – I blamed you. I thought that perhaps you’d distracted him, that he was worrying about you, or even trying to show off, and that was why...I’m sorry.”

James swallowed, his throat dry. “It’s...it’s all right.”

“I’m not telling you this to hurt you,” said Will, lifting his head but not loosening his grip. His eyes scanned James’ face. “I just couldn't go another moment with it hanging over my head.” With a small frown, he shook his head as if he were dizzy.

James adjusted his arm against a sudden sway. “Have you eaten since...have you slept?”

“No,” said Will, drawing a shaky breath, “and – and not really.”

“Come on,” said James, pulling him back toward the cabin. It felt good to have some purpose to fulfill at last. “Lie down and I’ll go get you something.” Will paused at the door, peering inside with a look on his face that was half longing and half fear. James waited. 

Will lifted his chin as he stepped over the threshold. He gazed about the room at Jack's things - his books, his clothes, his charts and maps and trinkets.

“It didn't seem right to move anything,” James said, watching the play of emotion on his face. Will nodded and lowered himself onto the bed, closing his eyes as his fingers ran across the blanket.

James left him there, breathing in the silence of the cabin. He fetched some hard bread and a hunk of cheese, a tankard of small ale, and – remembering the small cuts littering Will’s skin – a bucket and rag.

He returned to find Will in the same position. With a quiet word of thanks, he tore into the food and gulped the ale while James wet the rag.

Will glanced at him, then pulled off his shirt and sat back against the bulkhead, letting James kneel over him. He sponged away the dirt, starting with his face and working down. Will stayed still, just watching him. James didn't ask him where his scratches had come from, and he didn't offer an explanation.

When he had finished, James set the bucket on the floor and helped Will settle down against the pillows. Will twisted James’ hand in both of his own, stroking the inside of his wrist.

“Lie down with me?”

 _Is there anything I can..._  
_No, no, just...stay with me._

James stretched out beside him, something tight within his chest loosening a trifle. The ring in his pocket dug into his hip and he shifted to fish it out, offering it to Will in the palm of his hand.

Will touched it gently, reverently, before closing James’ fingers over it. “You keep it.”

James started to ask if he was sure, but Will shook his head, so he tried it on his ring finger and was surprised to find it too big. He moved it to his first finger, where Jack had worn it, and it fit perfectly. He’d always thought Jack’s hands were smaller.

“How long will it hurt like this?” Will whispered, twisting the ring around James' knuckle. "I can scarcely breathe for missing him."

“I don’t know," James replied, wishing he had a better answer to give. "I've never done this before.”

Will's smile was faint in the dim moonlight. He brushed fingertips across James’ scalp. “Your hair’s growing out already.” He kissed him along his hairline, looked down, met his eyes. Newfound uncertainty could not win out against his natural boldness, and he caught James’ mouth in a deep kiss.

James pulled away. “You need rest."

Will’s hand slipped under his shirt and along his belly. “Aye, we both do. But right now I need _you_.” He paused with his chin on James' collarbone, his brow creased. “Do you think this is...untoward, so soon, that he would...”

“Mind?” James finished, skimming his fingers along Will’s waistband. “On the contrary, I believe Jack would heartily approve.” Will laughed, then touched a hand to his throat in surprise. James chased it with his mouth, sucking at the pulse point to make it jump. Will made a soft noise and wrapped both arms around him.

There was no rush, no great desperate burst of passion – only their bodies pressed close in the darkness. 

“Like this,” Will breathed into his mouth, “just like this. James - _James_...”

There was a question in his voice, one he didn't dare speak aloud, and James answered it without thinking. 

“I'm here, Will,” he murmured, hand anchored at the base of his spine as their hips moved together. "I'm right here.”  


_It was enough, Jack. It was._  
_Truly?_

For the first time since Jack’s death James wasn't sorry to have that voice in his head, teasing, consoling, guiding him like a compass needle to true north.

Will’s grip on him was fierce and unyielding. He held on as well, held on as Will arched and spilled hot against his stomach, cries of pleasure and grief and gratitude mingling with the sweat on James’ skin and Jack’s low voice in his memory. He slid his sword-callused hand down to wrap around James' cock and that was all he needed before he was pouring himself out in Will’s palm, his breath echoing in short gasps

James felt the strangest sense of weight on his chest as he fell back beside Will. For days he’d been strung along like a kite, floating above the world because he’d thought he might have lost the last of what anchored him.

But Will’s arm was slung across him and his head lay heavy on James’s shoulder, and he knew there would be no more fretting about weightlessness.

He raised himself up awkwardly to reach for the rag. Will was already drifting into much-needed sleep. He stirred as James ran the cloth over his flushed skin, a furrow etched between his brows. 

_Only comfort._

“Shhh,” James whispered, curling around him as he would if Jack lay on the other side, their fingers twined together over Will's heart.

_Touch._

He reached up to brush the tumbled brown curls back, kissed his parted lips. The tension eased from WIll's face as he turned his head on the pillow.

_And love. Yes, always that._

A breeze belled the sails of the _Black Pearl_ , a languid sigh wafting through her beams. For a moment it was joined by a man’s softly wicked laugh, and then it was just the wind and the creak of rail and rigging.


End file.
